


Weathering the Storm

by Jemima_Puddleduck



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Afghanistan, Angst, Couch Cuddles, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, John is a Mess, Johnlock - Freeform, Love Confessions, M/M, PTSD John, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sherlock is a Good Boyfriend, Thunderstorms, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-21 02:48:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10676112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jemima_Puddleduck/pseuds/Jemima_Puddleduck
Summary: When a thunderstorm sweeps across London, John feels as if he is back on the battlefield. Luckily, Sherlock's there to help him through the storm.





	Weathering the Storm

John was curled up cosily on the sofa in 221B after a long day at the surgery. The dark, imposing clouds that blanketed the city that night seemed a world away as John relaxed in the glow of the flat with a warm cup of tea clasped in his hands. Sherlock was stretched out not too far away, lounging like lazy cat in his armchair with limbs sticking out in all directions. John took him in with a fond smile, absently wondering how he'd managed to contort himself into such a strange position while still remaining comfortable. A contented silence filled the room. Sherlock was deep in thought and John didn't want to tear him away from his mind palace. He basked in it, glad to finally have some peace. 

The perfect image was soon abruptly disturbed as a flash of lighting tore through the night air and lit up the flat with a brilliant glow before disappearing. John's breath hitched in his throat at the sudden light, knowing what was coming next. A loud grumble of thunder seemed to make the flat tremble and John felt the tremor in his hand returning. Thunderclap after thunderclap rent the air and the torrential rain battered on the windows with vigour. The soldier was gripping his mug so tightly that his knuckles went white, and he hadn't noticed that he was shaking uncontrollably until he felt a gentle pair of hands take the tea from his grasp and set it on the coffee table. 

He trembled all over, memories of Afghanistan, roadside bombs and gunfire, began to resurface unbidden. The familiar hands returned to clasp his own, gripping him more insistently now. It was only then that John made out Sherlock's voice. 

"John?" Sherlock ventured in a hushed voice. 

"Yeah?" John replied stiffly. 

"Are you okay?" He asked with a surprisingly soft and gentle tone that John had never heard him use before. A head shake was the only reply. 

"Is it the thunder?" Sherlock deduced, crouching down next to the sofa, still gripping John's hands in his own. He received a curt nod in return. 

It was then that Sherlock began to rub comforting circles in John's palm with his thumb. John's eyes snapped open at the unexpected contact and found Sherlock staring directly up at him, his face glowing golden in the warm light of 221B. The sharp edges and harsh lines of his face had been softened by the light, and John felt grounded in his presence. It wasn't Afghanistan; he was home. 

Sherlock lightly tugged John's hand and pulled him into a lying-down position on the sofa. John's face crinkled with confusion at his flatmate, but he didn't protest as the shaking in his limbs was worsening. The memories tumbled over each other in John's mind, each scrambling to the surface to torture him further. He slowly became more and more disconnected, hearing the mumbling of the TV as if through a fishbowl. His heart hammered faster and faster as he remembered running along a dusty track, his feet pounding and pounding into the dirt. 

Just as he thought he was going to spill over and scream, or cry, or both, he felt a warm presence. Sherlock crawled onto the sofa next to his friend and wrapped his arms tightly around him. He pressed John's head into his chest to muffle the sounds outside. Gentle fingers on one of his wrists kept him informed on John's pulse.

"Sher-" John choked out, the name dying on his lips as he trembled in his friend's arms. 

"Shh. It's alright." Sherlock whispered in a soft, caring voice; a voice that hardly ever saw any use. "You're safe here." 

He was right. John did feel safe enveloped in Sherlock's arms. He was so much taller and could wrap himself completely around John, cutting off anything but the sound of his own rapid breathing. He finally felt himself calming and his head stopped spinning. Pressing himself even closer to Sherlock, he took a few full, gulping breaths of his scent, letting the familiar smell wash over him and bring him back to reality. 

John didn't speak any more. He simply lay there in Sherlock's arms, his breathing slowly returning to normal. Sherlock didn't dare move until he could only just feel John's small huffing breaths on his chest. He took a moment to stare down at the smaller man in his arms. He marvelled at the bravery he had, and the strength he showed at times like this. Looking down into John's face, Sherlock almost had to remind himself to breathe. He seemed so peaceful sleeping, unscarred, unblemished, that Sherlock couldn't help himself any longer. Pure love overwhelmed him as he leant down to press a butterfly-light kiss on John's forehead. 

John's eyes immediately snapped open and took in Sherlock, his face inches from his own. 

"You weren't sleeping." Sherlock whispered in realisation. His heart became frantic with the shock and fear of being caught. 

"No. I wasn't." John said shakily, trying to process the situation. 

"John I'm sorry. I didn't mean... I didn't want..." Sherlock stuttered, trying to back out. 

"Sherlock." John said quietly after a pause. "It's fine." 

"No. It isn't. I shouldn't have... it wasn't good." He choked out, flustered now. 

"It's fine." John said more firmly, shocking Sherlock into silence. 

Sherlock just blinked at him, lying stiff on the sofa. His confusion and many unspoken questions seeped out of every pore and John knew he had to put things right. Slowly and gently, he pressed his lips to Sherlock's, tasting the faint bitterness of cigarette smoke. It was a tender caress, each of them treating the other as a fragile china doll that could crumble away in their hands at any moment. They slowly relaxed into each other, bodies becoming one as their lips fitted perfectly together. It felt right. They weren't hungry for each other, they weren't desperate, they just finally felt like they were home. 

"I love you John Watson." Sherlock breathed, in awe of what had just taken place. 

"I love you too Sherlock Holmes." John replied in an embarrassingly choked voice. The admission stunned Sherlock, as if he didn't believe John would actually say it. Before he could stop it, tears were rolling down his cheeks and his mouth was on John's once more. John reached up gentle hand to brush away the tears smoothing their way down Sherlock's cheeks. He traced his thumb across the sharp cheekbones he'd admired for so long. He wrapped one of his legs around Sherlock, pulling them flush against each other, heaving chests pressed together. 

"I think this is the happiest I've ever been." Sherlock admitted sheepishly in small whisper. 

John didn't reply; he was too busy kissing the soft expression from Sherlock's face, wondering how he'd managed to keep his hands off this beautiful man for so long. 

"Same here." He finally said, snuggling into his new lover's chest with a contented sigh and the thunder long forgotten.


End file.
